A small head, black against the light, was bobbing and ducking in the swell. I stood up, narrowing my eyes against the glare, and waved. She must have seen me, because as soon as I was standing she waved back and began to wade out towards me. She came with sand-crusted feet and matted hair, and beads of cold water were dripping from her. She kissed me and undressed me, and we made love. Afterwards, we went for a swim.
By the time we had walked along the coast to the nearest village, the sun was high and the unmade track beside the shore was burning beneath our feet. We ate a meal at an open-air restaurant, while the air was drowsy with insects and distant motorcycles. We were in the village of Paiö on the island of Paneron, but it was too hot for Seri and she wanted to move on. There was no harbour in Paiö; just a shallow river running down to meet the sea, and a few small boats tied to rocks. The bus would arrive in the afternoon, but we could rent bicycles. Paneron Town was a three-hour ride away, on the other side of the central range.
Paneron was the first of several islands we visited. It became a compulsive journey, travelling, travelling. I wanted to slow down, to relish each place as we found it, to discover Seri. But she was discovering herself in a way I barely understood. To her, each island represented a different facet of her personality, each one vested in her a sense of identity. She was incomplete without islands, she was spread across the sea.
“Why don’t we stay here?” I said, in the harbour of an island with the odd name of Smuj. We were waiting for the ferry to take us on to yet another island. I was intrigued by Smuj: in the town I had found a map of the interior, where an ancient city lay. But Seri needed to change islands.
“I want to go to Winho,” she said.
“Let’s stay one more night.”
She seized my arm and there was the force of determination in her eyes. “We must go somewhere else.”
It was the eighth day, and already I could hardly distinguish the islands we had visited. “I’m tired of moving on. Let’s not travel for a while.”
“But we hardly know each other. Each island reflects us.”
“I can’t tell the difference.”
“Because you don’t know how to see. You have to surrender to the islands, become enraptured by them.”
“We don’t get a chance. As soon as we land in one place we set off for another.”
Seri gestured impatiently. The boat was approaching the quay, the hot smell of diesel fumes drifting around it.
“I told you,” she said. “In the islands you can live forever. But you won’t know how until you find the right place.”
“At the moment I wouldn’t know the right place if we found it.”
We sailed to Winho, and from there to more islands. A few days later we were on Semell, and I noticed that from there ships sailed regularly to Jethra. I was frustrated with the journey, and disappointed with what I had learned about Seri. She transmitted her restlessness to me, and I began to think of Gracia and to wonder how she was. I had been away too long, and should not have abandoned her. Guilt grew in me.
I told Seri my feelings. “If I go back to Jethra, will you come with me?”
“Don’t leave me.”
“I want you to come with me.”
“I’m scared you’ll go back to Gracia and forget about me. There are more islands to visit.”
“What happens when we reach the last one?” I said.
“There is no last one. They go on forever.”
“That’s what I thought.”
We were in the central square of Semell Town, and it was noon. Old men sat in the shade, the shops were shuttered, in the olive trees growing on the rocky hills behind the town we could hear goat bells, and a donkey braying. We were drinking iced tea, and the timetable from the shipping line lay on the table between us. Seri called the waiter and ordered a spiced pastry.
“Peter, you’re not ready to return yet. Don’t you see that?”
“I’m worried about Gracia. I shouldn’t have left her.”
“You had no choice.” A motorboat started up in the harbour; in the slumbering heat it seemed as if it were the only mechanical sound in all the islands. “Don’t you remember what I told you? You must surrender to the islands, submerge yourself in them. Through them you can escape to find yourself. You’ve given yourself no chance. It’s too soon to return.”
“You’re just distracting me,” I said. “I shouldn’t be here. It feels wrong…it’s not for me. I must go home.”
“And you’ll go on destroying Gracia.”
“I don’t know.”
In the morning a ship called in Semell, and we boarded her. It was a short voyage—two and a half days, with two ports of call on the way—but as soon as we were on board it was almost as if we were in Jethra itself. The ship was registered there, and the food in the dining saloon had the dull familiarity of home. Most of the other passengers were Jethrans. Seri and I barely spoke to each other. It had been a mistake to go with her to the islands; they were not what I expected.
We docked in Jethra in the late afternoon, and disembarked quickly. We rode the escalator to street level, jostled by the crowds of rush-hour commuters. On the street, traffic rushed past and I glanced at newspaper placards; ambulance drivers were threatening to strike, and the OPEC countries had announced another oil-price increase.
I said: “Are you going to come with me?”
“Yes, but only as far as Gracia’s flat. You don’t want me anymore.”
But suddenly I did, and I took her hand and held it tightly. I sensed that she was about to recede from me again, as Jethra had receded even before I had walked in its streets.
“What am I going to do, Seri? I know you’re right, but somehow I can’t go through with it.”
“I’m not going to try to influence you anymore. You know how to find the islands, and I’ll always be there.”
“Does that mean you’re going to wait for me?”
“It means you’ll always be able to find me.”
We were standing in the centre of the pavement while the crowds pushed by. Now that I was back in London the urgency of my return had left me.
“Let’s go to our café,” I said.
“Do you know how to find it?”
We walked along Praed Street, but it was all too emphatic. At the corner with Edgware Road I began to despair.
Then Seri said: “I’ll show you.”
She took my hand, and after we had gone a short distance I heard a tram bell. I sensed that an almost subliminal change had come over the city’s appearance. We turned into one of the broad boulevards that ran through the fashionable residential areas, and before long came to the intersection where the pavement café was situated. We sat there for a long time, until after sunset, but then I felt the restlessness growing in me again.
Seri said: “There’s a sailing this evening. We could still catch it.”
I shook my head. “There’s no question of it.”
Without waiting to see what she would do, I left some coins on the table-top and started to walk northwards. It was a warm evening, by London standards, and there were many people about. Many of the pubs had overspilled into the streets, and the restaurants were doing good business.
I was aware that Seri was following me, but she said nothing and I did not look back at her. I had tired of her, had used her up. She offered only escape…but escape from, not to, so there was nothing to replace what I left behind.
But in one sense she had been right: I had needed to see the islands to find myself. Something had been purged from me now.
In the emptiness that remained, I recognized my mistake. I had sought to understand Gracia through Seri, whereas in reality she was my own complement. She fulfilled what I lacked, became the embodiment of that. I thought she explained Gracia, but in reality she only defined me to myself.
Walking in these streets, which had become ordinary, I saw a new face of reality.
Seri soothed, where Gracia abraded
. Seri aroused, where Gracia discouraged. Seri was calm, where Gracia was neurotic. Seri was bland and pale, and Gracia was turbulent, effervescent, moody, eccentric, loving and alive. Seri was bland, above all.
A creation of my manuscript, she was intended to explain Gracia to me. But the events and the places described in the manuscript were imaginative extensions of myself, and so were the characters. I had thought they stood for other people, but now I realized they were all different manifestations of myself.
It was dark when we reached the road where Gracia had her flat. I walked more quickly until I could see the house. I saw a light in the front room of the basement. As usual, the curtains had not been drawn, and I turned away, not wanting to see inside.
“You’re going to go in and see her, aren’t you?” Seri said.
“Yes, of course.”
“What about me?”
“I don’t know, Seri. The islands weren’t what I wanted. I can’t hide anymore.”
“Do you love Gracia?”
“Yes.”
“You know you’re going to destroy her again?”
“I don’t think so.”
What I had done to hurt Gracia most of all was to take refuge in my fantasies. I had to reject them.
Seri said: “You think I don’t exist, because you think you created me. But I’ve got a life of my own, Peter, and if you found me in that you’d know it isn’t true. So far you’ve only seen a part of me.”
“I know,” I said, but she was only a part of myself. She was my embodiment of the urge to run, to hide from others. She represented the idea that my misfortunes came from outside, whereas I was learning that they came from within. I wanted to be strong, but Seri weakened me.
Seri said, and I heard bitterness—“Then do whatever you want.”
I sensed she was receding from me, and I stretched out to take her hand. She moved it adroitly away.
“Please don’t go,” I said.
Seri said—I know you’re going to forget me, Peter, and perhaps it’s as well. I’ll be wherever you find me.
She walked away, her white shirt luminous in the city lights. I watched her, thinking of the islands, thinking of the falsehoods in me she represented. Her slim figure, erect and lithe, the short hair that swung slightly as she walked. She left me, and before she had reached the corner of the street I could see her no more.
Alone with the parked cars I felt a sudden and exhilarating sense of relief. However Seri had intended it, she had released me from my own self-fulfilling escapes. I was free of the definition I had made for myself, and at last I felt able to be strong.
22
Beyond the parked Australian minibus, Gracia’s window shone orange-hued behind palings. I walked forward, determined to reconcile our difficulties.
When I reached the edge of the pavement I could see down into the room, and I saw Gracia for the first time.
She was sitting on the bed in full view of the road. She was upright, with her legs crossed beneath her. She held a cigarette in one hand and was gesticulating with the other as she spoke. It was a pose I had seen her in many times; she was active in conversation, was talking about something that interested her. Surprised, because I had assumed she would be alone, I backed away before she noticed me. I moved to a place from where I could see the rest of the room.
A young woman was there with her, curled up in the only chair in the room. I had no idea who she was. She was about Gracia’s age, dressed conventionally, wearing spectacles. She was listening to what Gracia was saying, nodding from time to time, speaking infrequently.
When I was sure neither of them had seen me I moved in a little closer. An ashtray full of cigarette ends was on the floor by the bed. Two empty coffee mugs were beside it. The room looked as if it had been recently tidied: the books on the shelves were upright and in neat rows, there were no clothes in the usual corner and the drawers of the chest were closed. Any remaining signs of Gracia’s attempted suicide had long since vanished: the furniture had been repositioned, the damage to the door repaired.
Then I noticed there was a small sticking plaster on the underside of Gracia’s wrist. She seemed totally unaware of it, using that arm as freely as she used the other.
She was talking a lot, but more important she seemed happy. I saw her smile several times, and once she laughed aloud with that sideways tilt to the head that I had seen so often, in the old days.
I wanted to hurry in and see her, but the presence of the other woman held me back. I was gladdened by Gracia’s appearance. She was as thin as ever, but that aside she radiated good health and mental animation: she reminded me of Greece and sunbathing and retsina, where we began. She looked five years younger than she had the last time I saw her, her clothes seemed clean and freshly pressed, and her hair had been cut and restyled.
I watched the two women for a few minutes, then, to my relief, the stranger stood up. Gracia smiled, said something, and they both laughed. The woman went to the door.
Not wishing to be seen lurking around, I walked a short distance down the road and stood on the other side. After a minute or two, the woman came up to the road and let herself into one of the parked cars. As soon as she had driven away I walked quickly across the road and slipped my key into the lock.
The lights were on in the hall, and the air smelled of furniture polish.
“Gracia? Where are you?” The bedroom door was open, but she was not there. I heard the lavatory being flushed, and the door was opened.
“Gracia, I’m back!”
I heard her say: “Jean, is that you?” Then she appeared, and saw me.
“Hello, Gracia,” I said.
“I thought—Oh my God, it’s you! Where have you been?”
“I had to go away for a few—”
“What have you been doing? You look like a tramp!”
“I’ve been…sleeping rough,” I said. “I had to get away.”
We were standing a few paces apart, not smiling, not moving to embrace each other. I had an inexplicable thought, that this was Gracia, the real Gracia, and I could hardly believe it. She had assumed an unearthly, ideal quality in my mind, something lost and unattainable. And yet she stood there, real and substantial, the very best Gracia, untroubled and beautiful without that haunting terror behind her eyes.
“Where were you? The hospital was trying to trace you, they contacted the police—Where did you go?”
“I left London for a while, because of you.” I wanted to hug her, feel her body against me, but there was something in her that kept me at a distance. “What about you? You look so much better!”
“I’m all right now, Peter. No thanks to you.” She looked away. “I shouldn’t say that. They told me you saved my life.”
I went to her and tried to kiss her, but she turned her face so that all I could do was touch her cheek. When I put up my arms to hold her, she stepped back. I followed her, and we went into the cool dark sitting room, where the television and hi-fi were, the room we had rarely used.
“What’s the matter, Gracia? Why won’t you kiss me?”
“Not now. I wasn’t expecting you, that’s all.”
“Who’s Jean?” I said. “Is that the girl who was here?”
“Oh, she’s one of my social workers. She calls every day to make sure I’m not going to do myself in. They look after me, you see. After they discharged me they found out I had tried it before, and now they keep an eye on me. They think it’s dangerous for me to live alone.”
“You’re looking terrific,” I said.
“I’m all right now. I won’t do it again. I’ve come through all that.”
There was an edge to her voice, an inner hardness, and it repelled me. It felt as if it was intended to repel.
“I’m sorry if I seemed to abandon you,” I said. “They told me you were being looked after. I thought I knew why you had done it, and I had to get away.”
“You don’t have to explain. It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“What do you mean? Of course it still matters!”
“To you…or to me?”
I stared at her in a futile way, but she gave no hint by her expression that might help me.
“Are you angry with me?” I said.
“Why should I be?”
“Because I ran out on you.”
“No…not angry.”
“What then?”
“I don’t know.” She moved about the room, but not in the restless way I used to know. Now she was being evasive. This room, like the bedroom, had been tidied and polished. I hardly recognized it. “Let’s go in the front. I want a cigarette.”
I followed her into the bedroom, and while she sat on the edge of the bed and lit a cigarette, I drew the curtains. She watched me, said nothing. I sat down in the chair the social worker had been in.
“Gracia, tell me what happened to you…in the hospital.”
“They patched me up and sent me home. That’s all, really. Then the social services found a file on me, and they’ve been hassling me a bit. Jean’s O.K., though. She’ll be glad you’ve come back. I’ll ring her in the morning and tell her.”
“What about you? Are you glad I’m back?”
Gracia smiled as she reached down to flick ash off her cigarette. I sensed that I had said something ironic.
“What are you smiling at?” I said.
“I needed you when I came home, Peter, but I didn’t want you. If you had been here you’d only have screwed me up again, but the social people would have left me alone. I was relieved you weren’t here. It gave me a chance.”
“Why would I have screwed you up?”
“Because you always did! It’s what you’ve been doing ever since we met.” Gracia was trembling, picking at her fingernails while the cigarette burned upside down in her hand. “When I came home all I wanted was to be alone, to think for myself and work things out, and you weren’t here and it was just what I wanted.”
I said: “Then I shouldn’t have come back at all.”
The Affirmation Page 22